Get Out of My Library!
by Trefoil-underscore
Summary: Dr. Armitage has some sort of injury and it's making him cranky. Well, you know, even more than usual. (Short fluff exploring how the events of The Dunwich Horror might have affected Armitage's personality.)


Dr. Francis Morgan entered the Miskatonic University Library and walked quickly past the shelves of classics and newspapers and the students hunched silently over mounds of books on tables, clutching their heads as if they were about to explode under the force of too much knowledge. Morgan pulled open the door to the stairwell and began climbing, his steps echoing hollowly in the stone tower. He was around thirty, a devoted prankster with curly red-tinged dark hair and spectacles in constant danger of slipping off the end of his nose. He pushed them back into place twice during his climb, passing two doors without pausing. The staircase ended with a landing on the fourth floor. Morgan adjusted his spectacles yet again and pushed open the door marked "Restricted Section. _No admittance unless on verifiable academic business_." This floor was less than a quarter the size of the main room on the first floor, and its books, some extremely old, lay locked away under glass instead of on shelves. There was a single table, a few comfortable chairs, and one gaunt-looking fellow with dark circles under his eyes sitting up very straight behind a desk directly opposite the door. The morning light from the windows on either side of his desk backlit wild white hair that had been trimmed short in an effort to curb its apparent enthusiasm. His short beard was white as well, and he wore a plain, comfortable suit that had seen much wear. His hands were out of sight behind the desk and seemed to rest on his lap. "Hullo, Henry! I was held up for half an hour by some madman wanting to talk about zombies. I did my best to convince him their existence was impossible." Dr. Henry Armitage shuddered slightly, then lifted his hands into view. His right hand was swathed in gauze. He laid it carefully on the desk with his left. "Thank you for coming up. I wondered if you'd do me a favor and look at this? I'm sorry to complicate your morning—" "Don't worry about that; what have you done to yourself this time?!" "I underestimated the effects of an experiment." the men looked up as two voices were heard echoing in the stairwell. "That's Warren, I asked him to pop in as well. This is good. I can tell both of you what I've been up to. But I wonder who else…" "It sounds like one of the freshmen has accepted a dare." "Oh, God! I have been up all night and I have exactly zero patience left to deal with this!" Armitage smacked the top of his desk with his uninjured hand.

Frank Sicily, who was actually a sophomore but had indeed accepted a dare to try to borrow a book from the Restricted Section, followed Prof. Warren Rice into the top level of the library and looked around with interest. Dr. Armitage was seated behind a desk piled with books, notes, and strange paraphernalia, hiding his right hand under a notebook. He looked absolutely livid. He hadn't looked quite so man-eating when he'd seen him before, perhaps the rumors that he was freakishly protective of the Restricted Section were true. Rice didn't seem to notice his friend's look. "Morning, Henry! Frank here would like to speak with you, I think, before you tell me your news." Rice, grey-haired and more noticeable for his girth than his height, settled into one of the padded chairs with a peaceful sigh. He often came up to the Restricted Section and napped in one of the chairs between classes, he liked the peace and quiet, and his friend. "Dr. Armitage?" said Frank, walking up to the desk with a big smile. Armitage eyed him with distaste. He was baby-faced and impish. He clearly had no business in the Restricted Section. "Yes." "I'm Frank Sicily. It's an honor to meet you." Armitage eviscerated the child with his eyes for several seconds before saying "Thank you." "I'd like to borrow a book." "Why?" Frank paused, obviously trying to think of a response that wasn't 'my friends dared me to see what would happen if I tried.' "I'm, I'd like to use them as reference for my Literature essay—" "What class are you in?" Frank named a class. "Do you have a signature from your professor?" "Er—no, I didn't think—" "You can go get that, then. And while you're at it, I'd either like character recommendations from three people I personally know and trust or a letter of recommendation from a professor of the occult who is known to me explaining why you need the book. If you can acquire _both_ of these, it will help you materially. I'll also need a written statement from you of what you want to do with the book, which book it is, and how long you'll need to have access to it." "And then I can take a book out?" "No. Then I'll allow you to look at the specific book that you've named, under supervision." Frank couldn't suppress a sound of amusement. Armitage kept talking. He was really being very sour about it. "The last time I allowed someone access to the Restricted Section it nearly resulted in the end of the world as we know it. What book do you want to borrow, anyway?" "Um—" Frank didn't care about anything but baiting the eccentric head librarian as much as possible. He tried to remember the names of forbidden books that his friends had told him. "De Verm—" "No. Absolutely and always no." "What about the N—" "NO! Definitely no! Do you understand what you're asking?" "Well, yes, and I don't understand why you're getting so excited about it. I just want to take a look at how the book is formatted for the essay I'm writing, maybe jot down some notes. Can't you let me do that? Actually, I could do it while I'm up here. You don't seem busy, you could look over my shoulder all you want. I won't take half an hour." "Oh certainly," said Armitage. "I will change my mind and allow you to muck around with my books, many of which are priceless, disturbing, or both, simply because you tried to plead with me like a five-year-old who doesn't want to take his nap. I'm sure that the fact that I've devoted my career to keeping these books safely away from curious students will count for naught now that some person whom I've just met and who I know nothing at all about says he wants to do research in this specific section, as opposed to any other section with old books that aren't evil and horrifying. Now you're looking at me blankly, but apparently with some remaining degree of hope. I can accept this fact because I'm convinced that sarcasm is a trait developed very lately in evolution as a natural defense of intelligent organisms against stupidity and I don't believe you are highly evolved enough to know of such a thing. Have I made myself clear? Now get out of my library." Frank backed out the door, mouth open. It closed behind him and they heard him laughing hysterically in the stairwell. Armitage groaned, rubbed his forehead in his free hand, and pulled the other out from under the notebook. Rice sat up in his chair when he saw the heavily bandaged limb. "Good God, Henry!" "Don't panic. I didn't die." Morgan knelt and carefully unwrapped the hand, finally turning it over to look at the palm. He grimaced. Armitage's hand was severely burned, with muscles and tendons visible in some places. "You need to see a doctor about this." "I did." "A medical doctor." "You are." "Dammit Henry! A practicing, licensed, medical professional! You know what I mean. What can I do with this? This is horrible!" "I suppose it is. But my doctor thinks I'm insane. I don't want to see him about… something like this." "Well, go to anyone else, but do it today. It's really quite horrible. How did it happen, anyway?" Rice rose ponderously from his chair, came around the desk, took one look at his friend's hand and sat down on the floor with a gasp. "I was up late conducting experiments into the occult. You know what I've been doing lately. Well, things went rather oddly and I made a fool of myself. I didn't realize how bad it was at first, I had to put out fires—literally and figuratively—and then clean up after myself. And make sure that I hadn't accidentally summoned anything that would wipe out the human race. I only noticed when I tried to write, and this is my writing hand, so—" Rice, now standing again, gave a sympathetic shudder, and Armitage reached across the desk and patted him on the arm. He was a sensitive fellow. Armitage hadn't meant to let him see his injury. "Then Jillian saw it this morning as I tried to eat breakfast, naturally. I had been thinking of the experiment and between that and lack of sleep I hadn't really looked at it, but she drew my attention to how bad it really was—" "Poor woman," murmured Rice. "Poor my eardrums," said Armitage with humor. "By then, too, it was starting to hurt, so I agreed with her. She told me to go straight to the doctor." "And instead you came here, hid in your attic full of evil tomes, and left a very casual message for a friend who's a doctor of medicine but has never practiced it, telling him that if he's not busy, you'd like to show him something." "Yes. Considering that I've nearly burned my hand off due to my own idiocy, I think we can agree that I don't always make the best choices." "Alright, you want my medical opinion? You will see a doctor about this immediately, and then you will have a proper meal and some sleep. I forbid you to think about anything supernatural for twenty-four hours at least." Armitage nodded. "I'll drive you, I don't have anything until after lunchtime. Warren, would you like to come?" "Certainly!" "He's looking a bit faint. I think we should feed him after we've had you patched up." "Alright," said Armitage, standing. "I'll let someone who is a professional look at my hand and then we'll get lunch." As the three walked downstairs (having securely locked the door to the Restricted Section, of course,) Morgan decided that the time had come for a prank he had previously restrained himself from playing on his friend. He felt that Armitage deserved it for his recent acerbity, and that it might help lighten the mood. "I'm afraid I have a confession to make, Henry. I did something rather terrible. I didn't think it would work, but to my surprise it did." "What?" "I told Jillian that you should take her to Dunwich for your anniversary and now I'm afraid she's set on it." "Dunwich?! For our anniversary? Are you mad?" "I meant it as a joke, but… I'm afraid…" "You bastard, you inhuman bastard!" Morgan laughed. "Joking! Do you really think I'd do something like that to you?" Armitage glared at him. "Yes, you would. Warren wouldn't, but you would." "Henry." he laughed again, wondering what the students who had certainly heard Armitage's shouted curses echoing through the stairwell had thought. "Lower your voice, we're in a library." "My library," grouched Armitage, but he was smiling as well, and Rice was looking less liable to faint. Morgan considered his joke a success. Armitage continued, "I really should get more sleep. But at the moment, lunch and a fresh bandage would help."


End file.
